


A Soft Acceptance

by caprigender



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Femslash, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprigender/pseuds/caprigender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christine and Meg lean on one another for many things.<br/>Possibly underage depending on your headcanon ages for the ladies. Written with the intention of overage Christine and Meg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soft Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> Soft cuddling an mild smuttiness for one of my fav pairings.

“psst, Meg are you awake?” a soft voice whispered from the corner cot in the chorus girl dormitories.

A rustling of blankets and a sleepy voice responded, “Christine? What is it?” In the moonlight that shone through the grimy dormitory window Meg could see her friend sitting up in bed, her chocolate curls like a lion’s mane framing her face. For a moment Meg couldn’t make out the other girl’s expression but as her eyes adjusted to the dark she saw Christine’s brow was furrowed and her perfect lips were turned down a the corners. She sighed and threw back the cheap cotton and wool covers of her cot. “Come on, get in.”

Christine sprang from her bed and scrambled into the tiny space left for her by Meg. The two girls snuggled up together against the drafty winter cold. The blond stroked her friend’s hair, allowing her to warm up and settle in before asking her if anything was wrong. She listened to the soft sound of Christine’s breathing. The girl’s stomach expanded far more than her chest with each breath, Meg noted with a smile. Christine was a natural singer.

“He hasn’t come,” Christine whispered so that Meg had to strain to hear her. “It has been five weeks since my angel has visited. What if he’s left me for good?”

Meg frowned, “Christine” she paused, unsure of what to say next. Her friend believed that she was taught to sing by a guardian angel and while Meg proclaimed to be as good and faithful a Catholic girl as any other in Paris, she could not believe that angels were numerous enough that one might be personally watching over a mere opera chorus girl. Even then, when did angels ever make themselves known to the common folk? It simply did not make sense.

“Do you think it might be because of me? Maybe I wasn’t good enough.”

“Christine you’re a wonderful singer”

Christine gasped “Oh Meg! I hadn’t even thought of that! What if I’m not learning fast enough? What if he realized I would never be a good enough singer?” Her shoulders began to shake and Meg shushed her quietly, kissing her gently on the forehead. “And here I thought it was because I thought mean things about Angelique at the barre the other day, what if I’m just not good enough as a singer?”

“Oh dear,” Meg whispered, clutching her friend tight to her chest, “Christine don’t even think it, you are an amazing singer. Shhhhh, there there darling. Say, would you like me to tell you a story?” Christine sniffed back the beginnings of tears and nodded. Meg kissed the top of her head again. “That’s more like it. Have I told you the one about the time we came into the dressing rooms during a showing of Pinafore and the mirrors were smeared with blood? Maman says it’s because the Phantom was cross with the manager again but I know the real reason. You want to know why, Chrissy?” Christine nodded. “Well you see, little Geraldine had been running her mouth off about how she’d seen him up in the crosswalks earlier that week. She was describing him, his face his walk his voice. You know how ghosts don’t like to be talked about, right? Well, you can be sure we never heard a pip out of dear old Geraldine since that. And just two weeks later, she disappeared without a trace. No one knows what happened to her, but I’ve got a suspicion.” Meg paused for dramtic effect, “Hung up by her toes by our very own Opera Phantom.” Christine squeaked as Meg wiggled her fingers against the younger girl’s stomach.

“Ah! Meg cut it out!” she giggled. “You can’t really be telling the truth.”

“I swear on my life I am!”

“Well if this phantom is so keen on not being discussed, how come you’re still here?” she challenged. “I only know one other person more willing to talk about the Phantom, and that’s Buquet.”

Meg chuckled. The stifled laugh shook her chest and Christine with it. “Well maybe the Phantom just likes me more, huh?”

Christine huffed, “And I was in the production of Pinafore, remember? I think I’d remember if the walls were covered in blood.”

“oh boo, you’re no fun anymore, Christine,” Meg giggled into her friend’s soft curls, “I remember when you used to blindly trust every silly thing I made up, you know.”

“What really happened to Geraldine?”

“I told you. Phantom strung her up by her toes!”

“Marguerite!” Christine whispered. “Come on, tell me the truth.”

“Please, Chrissy, can’t I have a little fun?” she sighed, “I dunno, I think she went to another ballet company or something of the sort. Don’t ask me. Maman would know more.” Christine was quiet for a while. She was apparently satisfied with this information. Perhaps, Meg thought, she would be able to fall asleep now.

“Meg? Do you really believe in the opera ghost?”

“Of course I do”

“Why?”

Meg looked down at the slender girl nestled in her arms. “Well why not? What’s with all of these questions tonight?” Christine shrugged and did not answer. Sighing to herself, Meg adjusted the blankets over her body, tucking down any loose edges. Usually she would never miss a chance to talk about the opera ghost she had heard stories about since she was a little child, but that was usually when she had made up the stories herself. She was much more reluctant to go into the actual reasons she found the phantom so fascinating and why she truly believed he existed.

There were rumors, though thankfully not numerous, that Antoinette Giry was in fact the true opera ghost and that she used her position as the keeper of Box 5 to extort money and creative direction from the managers. However, many of the people in the actual theater were of the superstitious sort, and they trusted Madame Giry as much as they feared the Phantom. To them the phantom was real and the suggestion that Giry, strict but fair ballet instructor, was involved in anything untoward could not be more ridiculous. Meg did not have to rely on blind faith in her mother. She had seen the ghost. A brief glimpse of the man seated in Box 5 was her reward for snooping around and indulging her curiosity. He was a shadowed figure in a long dark cloak, but she had seen him. She had seen his form and heard his steps, and watched as the candle light glinted off the ghostly mask that served as his face. She had been only a little girl at the time. She still believed.

“Please don’t be cross with me, Meg. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Christine began to trace little circles with her fingers along the flat expanse of Meg’s stomach. The cotton fabric of her nightgown made the sensation rough and sent shivers down Meg’s spine and all the way out to her toes.

Meg smiled. “Aw, Christine, I could never be cross with you and you know it.” She mimicked the slow lazy finger movements against her friend’s back, glad to be off the topic of the Phantom. Christine nuzzled her nose into the crook between Meg’s neck and shoulders, kissing softly. Meg’s breath hitched and she felt the familiar warmth pooling again in her stomach, flushing her cheeks, and heating the area between her legs. 

The entwined girls moved together as they had many other nights before. Their slow, tentative kisses gained force and confidence quickly. Hands shimmied up under nightgowns and fumbled in the dark at bloomer knots. Meg grasped Christine’s hips and moved her legs to straddle the girl’s thigh. She let out a gasp as the blond began to push her heat against the thin cotton underthings. Christine could feel her wet warmth pressing up against her leg. Her cheeks flushed with excitement and embarrassment. Meg canted her hips, rubbing up against her friend with quiet breathy moans. Christine responded by grasping one of the blonde’s pert breasts between her fingers.

“Oh, oh Christine,” Meg’s voice came soft and ragged in Christine’s ear, “Christine you are positively an angel.” Her soft lips then set to work on her angel’s neck, gently kissing and nipping, never hard enough to leave a mark.

“Marguerite…” Christine sighed, inhaling the scent of her friend’s hair. It was sweet and floral, lavender from the herbal cleansers the ballerina’s had to use at Madame’s demand. Still, there was an undertone of Meg’s own personal smell and the sweat that gathered at the nape of her neck as the two girls worked up a heat in their bed. Christine loved it. To her, nothing smelled more like home than the sweet and intoxicating perfume that was Meg Giry. Meg rolled Christine onto her back and a new smell came wafting up from the protective defense of the thick woolen blankets. Christine gasped as the heady smell of her own arousal mixed with the smell of Meg’s hair and the thousands of other dusty smells in the girl’s dormitories.

“Christine,” Meg said between kisses. Her light voice was soft and melodic in these times of passion and Christine found herself longing to teach the girl everything she knew of singing. “Do you mind… I mean, would you like,” for someone as blunt and forthright as Meg to be hesitant and cautious was yet another thing that Christine loved about kissing this beautiful young woman, “I was wondering if you would like me to touch you, um, a bit further down.” The movement of her light fingers down the expanse of her stomach told Christine exactly what Meg was asking.

“Yes,” Christine found the courage to whimper, “Yes, please do”

Meg’s deft fingers found their way through the cotton folds of covers and breeches and paused tentatively above Christine’s womanhood. Christine shuddered in anticipation. The first touches were gentle and not particularly stimulating. Meg fumbled in the dark, her fingers wove through the short curls between her lover’s legs until she found what she was searching for. Deftly, her fingers parted Christine’s lips and rested on the little nub at their peak. She blushed at Christine’s moans as she moved her fingers in a way she hoped was pleasing. The angle was difficult and much more different than anything Meg had tried on herself. To her delight, Christine seemed to be reacting positively and the young ballerina redoubled her efforts.

Christine’s lithe form arched and twitched under Meg’s hand. This must be what heaven felt like, she thought. The only time she felt pleasure that could compare to the ecstasy she felt in Meg’s loving embrace was when she sang for her angel. Even then, how could the two experiences compare? Her angel’s voice wrapped protectively around her like silk, shielding her from the hardships she faced at the hands of a cruel uncaring world. And Meg? True, she was protective, but somehow Christine never felt ignorant and naïve around her. Writhing under Meg’s skillfull hands Christine felt as though she could truly do anything. She felt that she had the strength to conquer the world. She fought to keep herself quiet as her heart raced and her eyelids fluttered closed. Meg increased her pace as Christine bucked her hips against the ballerina. She whimpered breathless thank yous which Meg was all too eager to muffle with her soft lips. Suddenly, the soprano tensed up, grasping at Meg’s shoulders and tangling her fingers in her hair. Waves of heat and pleasure rolled through her body and she collapsed back on the bed in a mess of sweat, squeaks, and quiet aftershocks.

Meg smiled and leaned down to kiss her forehead tenderly.

“Did you have fun, my little angel?” she whispered mischievously. Christine squeaked and nodded in reply. 

“Would you like me to return the favor?”

Meg giggled, “No need tonight, Chrissy. I’m sure you’ll get me back another day. For now, we should get some sleep, I think.”

“Your Maman will be cross with you if you cannot do a proper tondue tomorrow.”

“Oh I don’t think we’ll have to worry about my legs being weak, will we?”

Christine laughed and to Meg that was the most beautiful music she had ever heard. “Goodnight Meg, my sweet little fairy.”

“Goodnight Christine.”


End file.
